These Old Shades
At the sound of it, Léon shut his book and untucked his legs, waiting expectantly. A few minutes later, a footman appeared with a summons for him. The page sprang up delightedly and ran to where a cracked mirror hung. Madame Dubois watched him smooth his copper curls and smiled indulgently.
"Voyons, petit, you are as conceited as a girl," she remarked.
Léon flushed and left the mirror. "Would you have me present myself to Monseigneur in disorder? I suppose he is going out. Where is my hat? Gaston, you have sat upon it!" He snatched it from the valet, twitching it into shape, and went out with the footman.
Avon was standing in the hall, talking to Hugh Davenant. He twirled a pair of soft gloves by their tassels, and his three-cornered hat was under one arm. Léon sank down onto one knee. The hard eyes traveled over him indifferently.
"Well?"
"Monseigneur sent for me?"
"Did I? Yes, I believe you are right. I am going out. Do you come with me, Hugh?”
"Where?" asked Davenant. He bent over the fire, warming his hands.
"I thought it might be amusing to visit La Fournoise."
Hugh made a grimace of distaste. "I like actresses on the stage, Justin, but not off it. La Fournoise is too opulent."
"So she is. You may go, Léon. Take my gloves." He tossed them to the page, and his hat after them. "Come and play at picquet, Hugh."
He strolled away to the salon, yawning, and with a tiny shrug of his shoulders, Hugh followed.
At the Comtesse de Marguéry's ball that night, Léon was left to await his master in the hall. He found a chair in a secluded corner and settled down quite contentedly to watch the arrival of the guests. As it was the Duke's custom to make his appearance as late as possible, he was not very hopeful of seeing many arrivals. He pulled a book out of his capacious pocket and started to read.
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